


Unnamed For Now

by 88dragons



Category: Hiddlebatch, Kong: Skull Island (2017), Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Forgive me if a little OC rears it's ugly head, I like being the first to do this kinda stuff, M/M, Monsters, Sexual Content, Slow Build, Surrounded by Monsters, They're on an island., duh!, m/m - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-06
Updated: 2018-09-13
Packaged: 2019-01-09 18:47:53
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 15
Words: 15,688
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12282330
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/88dragons/pseuds/88dragons
Summary: So, I am obsessed with Hiddlebatch and all the variations of it.  This is my first foray, however, but I am planning on writing either Loki/Khan or Loki/Dr. Strange.  I will probably do both.  Anyway, I debated between Sherlock/Magnus or Sherlock/Conrad and I went with this one.  Going kinda with the Kong movie.





	1. 1

**Author's Note:**

> i put the story under Benny/Tom so it would be found more easily. So, wish me luck! Hope you like it.

“So, why do you want me to speak to my brother on your behalf?”

That was the question, wasn’t it? Why these two men – these two _American_ men – couldn’t just schedule a meeting with Mycroft themselves instead of bothering Sherlock was a very good question as far as questions go. They were scientists, of a sort, though neither had been too elaborate on the subject, and seemed very dedicated to their cause, whatever that cause was. Something else they were rather vague about.

“Because,” the one named Randa began, “we need his help. What we’ve found has no precedent. It’s important that we get there first and anyone who’s anyone knows that your brother really runs this country and if he were to help us – “

“What is it exactly that you have found and why isn’t your own country jumping at the chance to be a part of such an _important_ discovery?”

“This,” Randa began, “is satellite imagery of a previously uncharted island.” Mr. Brooks stood and handed a single sheet of paper to Sherlock. Upon studying for a brief moment, he noted the shape of the island. “Skull Island. Many civilizations have spoken of it in legends. It’s notorious for the number of ships and planes that have gone missing there.”

“Like the Bermuda Triangle,” Sherlock said as he handed the sheet of paper across the way.

“I like to believe there’s an ecosystem out there the likes of which we can’t imagine,” Randa continued. He and Mr. Brooks seemed mildly annoyed at the comparison and the older man had refused to acknowledge it, but that was what Sherlock was good at – getting under people’s skins.

It was the young man sitting beside Randa, Brooks, who sprouted an explanation that was by far much more truthful than anything his associate had said so far.

“This island is a complete mystery. It showed up on satellite images 20 years ago but then disappeared again. There’s no telling what we could find there. Previously unknown plants that could be the key to life saving medicines or cures. Geological discoveries.” He sighed, shaking his head. “The truth is, Mr. Holmes, we don’t know what we’ll find there. All we do know is that other countries are going to find this island and soon and we have to get there first or the discoveries there could be lost to us. We need to find what is there first.”

Randa’s eyes had bulged out when Brooks had spoken what was honest truth, and now his gaze shifted to Sherlock and the look on his face was that he was just waiting to be asked to leave, the hope he had about getting Mycroft to aid them being dashed.

John Watson had been watching silently ever since they had sat down for this meeting and now his eyes shifted briefly over to Sherlock before focusing on the cup of coffee he had been nursing. Fingers steeped, tips lined up together, the famous detective was deep in thought. The American scientists were watching him closely also after looking to each other in uncertainty and slight confusion.

Then, as he was prone to do, he jumped to his feet. Mr. Randa startled, but held his ground. Mr. Brooks, however, let out a moderate “AH!” He saved the cup in his hand from crashing to the floor, and only got a few drops of coffee on his dark brown pants.

“You have my word, gentlemen, that I will contact my brother and request a meeting with him posthaste. Mrs. Hudson!”

As if she had been hovering on the stairs (which she more than likely had been), the landlady appeared in the doorway not half a minute after her name being called.

“Really, Sherlock. No need to shout. I’m not deaf, you know,” she said in a scolding manner.

“Would you be so kind as to show these gentlemen to the door,” Sherlock stated before sitting once again, taking on the same posture as before. He closed his eyes, nonverbally stating that this meeting was definitely over.

“But –” Mr. Randa began as he and Mr. Brooks headed for the door, spear-headed by Mrs. Hudson.

“We will call as soon as we hear from Mycroft,” Watson assured them, shaking their hands before they were out the door and down the stairs. He could hear Mrs. Hudson politely getting them out the door as fast as she could. “Well?” John returned to his chair and his cup.

“Mr. Brooks was honest. He believes what he says, and there is truth to it, but Mr. Randa has another agenda.” Holmes was sitting still, eyes still closed. “There is something else about that island and he knows what it is.”

“So, what are you going to do?” Watson asked, but he knew the answer already.

“Talk to Mycroft, of course.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope everyone is enjoying this so far. Thank you to everyone reading and for kudos!!

“He has a point,” Mycroft stated. He was leaning back in his chair at his desk. He had listened intently as Sherlock had recounted his meeting with Mr. Randa and Mr. Brooks. “It would be good for us to be at the front of whatever discoveries he makes on this island.”

 _Whatever discoveries._ Mycroft had just told confirmed Sherlock’s suspicions. _Smug bastard,_ Sherlock thought to himself. _He knows what he just said and that I would rise to the bait. How much, however, is what’s going to surprise him._

“Then Mr. Randa and Mr. Brooks are going to get the aid they request?” Sherlock inquired with as much innocence as he could muster which was a lot. Mycroft wasn’t falling for it, just as he knew he wouldn’t.

“Yes,” his older brother said at length.

“Good! Great!” Sherlock was practically bouncing in his seat. “Then I want to accompany them.”

 _“What?!”_ The word was echoed from both in front of him and to his left.

“Are you mad?” Mycroft asked, swiveling around, feet firmly on floor, arms crossed over his desk as he leaned over to glare at his brother.

“You can’t be serious?” Watson stated, his disbelief very apparent.

“If they are just doing scientific studies, then I could be beneficial,” Sherlock said to Mycroft. Turning his head, he gazed at Watson. “And you are always telling me I need to get out more.”

“Well, I suppose,” John agreed, “but not to a bloody damned island out in the middle of nowhere.”

“Really, brother mine, this isn’t an adventure you want to be undertaking.”

“Oh, I beg to differ,” Sherlock said with a slight smile. “I think it is exactly the type of adventure I want to be undertaking.”

There were several moments of silence, brother glaring at brother, both refusing to back down, Watson shifting his gaze from one to the other and then back again. Finally Mycroft’s lips turned up in a sardonic-type of smile. 

“Very well, Sherlock, if you insist, then I will get you access. It will be part of the agreement.”

John looked like a fish out of water, gasping for breath. “Are you serious?” He finally managed to get out.

“Don’t worry, Dr. Watson. After all, it’s just a scientific venture, as my dear brother pointed out. What’s the worst that could happen?”

“Precisely,” Sherlock agreed, jumping to his feet. “Call me with the details, Mycroft, and not a word to Mum and Dad. You know how they worry.” He retrieved his coat and hat, throwing the former over his arm before hurriedly leaving the office.

John, shaking his head after a brief nod to Mycroft, left following him, closing the door solidly behind him.

Mycroft waited a few moments, leaning back in his chair once more, before reaching over and pressing a button on his phone. No one acknowledged him but he knew someone was there, waiting to carry out his orders.

“My brother will need someone to keep an eye on him,” he stated, not really to the person over the line, but more to himself. “Someone capable of aiding the expedition but covertly keeping an eye on Sherlock as well.” He thought for only a moment and then smiled to himself. “I need you to find me the location of one James Conrad and make it quick.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again Thanks to everyone reading and leaving kudos. It's much appreciated. 
> 
> And sorry if there are any mistakes. My mom has been sick and I haven't had time to go back and edit or anything in the last few days.

“An uncharted island.” A slight smirk of incredulity and a shake of the head. “Let me list all the ways people are gonna die on this little outing. Rain, heat, mud, disease carrying flies and mosquitoes. Sure, one could load up on the Atabrine for the malaria, but what about the other bacteria?” What could be loosely labeled a smile accompanied by another shake of the head. “We haven’t even started on the things that want to eat people alive. You have no idea how dangerous this is going to be.”

“I’ll double your usual fee and – ’

“Five times that. Plus a bonus if we make it back.”

“Five times! Are you insane?” It was Mycroft’s turn to shake his head.

“How much is your brother’s life worth?”

Mycroft actually took several moments to ponder the question, much to James’ amusement. No matter what Mycroft said about his younger brother, James had the feeling he was going to like the younger Holmes. “Oh very well,” he agreed with a wave of his hand. “Do try to get him back in one piece though. Mummy and Daddy will have me drawn and quartered if any harm comes to him.”

“I can’t guarantee he will be unharmed.” And it was the truth. Even given what little Conrad knew about this island, he didn’t think there was a chance anyone would come back from it unscathed.

“Two arms. Two legs. His head. Those are all must haves. Ten fingers and ten toes, those are optional.” He smiled at his own joke, but the action wasn’t instigated by mirth.

James Conrad chuckled, rubbing at his chin. He had been escorted, for lack of a better word, from the bar he had been practically living in for the past four months – a dive of questionable dispute – back to London on the insistence of Mycroft Holmes, a man he hadn’t missed a damn bit in the last five years. “And why is the _Great Detective_ insisting on going on this little expedition?” He hadn’t even had a chance to shave yet, but here he was in Mycroft’s office sipping brandy that cost more per bottle than most people made in month or, in some instances, two.

“The hell if I know, but he would just find a way to get there if I told him no. The only thing he hates more than being told what to do is being told what he can’t do.” Mycroft took a long sip of his drink. “Especially by me. There are times when he isn’t happy unless he’s doing precisely what he shouldn’t be doing.”

“I’m going to go out on a limb here and say that the babysitting isn’t the only reason for me going. Why do they need a tracker and what exactly am I going to be tracking?”

“That’s the best part. I haven’t a clue. Damn bloody Americans are playing it close to the vest. I keep hearing the monogram ‘Project Monarch.’ Refers to some obscure project began in the 70s, not too long before the Vietnam War. Not much about it since until this Randa fellow started raising hell about that bloody island.”

“Skull Island,” Conrad murmured as he studied the satellite images splayed on Mycroft’s desk. “Well, it looks to be mostly jungle terrain. I can guarantee I knew more about jungles than anyone in that group so I won’t have to go around telling everyone I’m your brother’s body guard.”

“Oh, please, don’t do that!” Mycroft stood from his chair to refill his drink. “He’ll make your life miserable until he gets back here to make my life miserable. My brother’s a lot of things, Captain Conrad, but do not think for a second that he’s anything short of devious. To a fault.”

“Don’t call me ‘captain.’ You know damn well I’m decommissioned,” Conrad grumbled. He downed the last of his brandy in one gulp. “Hell, you were the one who decommissioned me if I remember correctly.”

“I had no choice. You disobeyed a direct order.”

“And saved twelve men in the process.”

“Commendable. Truly it was, but you and I both know it raised a splendid opportunity.”

“Someone to do your dirty work without having to worry about any official channels, no matter how cloaked.”

“Not even MI-5 can get into the places you do.” Mycroft strolled over and distributed more alcohol into Conrad’s glass. “Take this island for instance.”

“I didn’t think any MI-5 agents were trained to go traipsing through jungles,” Conrad said. He swirled the brandy around in the glass and then gulped it down. 

“And none of them are trained enough to handle my brother. Trust me, James, you are going to earn every bit of the money I’m paying you.”


	4. Chapter 4

“Are you sure about this?” John asked for the dozenth time since leaving Baker’s Street. 

Mary just smiled as she watched Sherlock roll his eyes at the question, as he had also done for the dozenth time. She and John had left Rosie with Mrs. Hudson that morning when they had been determined to see Sherlock off. She knew that John was wishing he was going along with Sherlock. Hell, so was she. But they hadn’t been invited and she got the feeling that this adventure was one Sherlock wanted to experience on his own.

They were on their way to Heathrow Airport where Sherlock, along with Mr. Randa, Mr. Brooks, and a man Mycroft had hired because of his impressive ability as a tracker (or so he said), would take a private jet (more-than-likely the same one Sherlock had used before to _almost_ take him out of the country) to an undisclosed base where they would then make their way to a aircraft carrier that would see them to the island.

In theory. The island was surrounded by tumultuous storm clouds. Thus the air craft carrier was American and the soldiers who would accompany the scientists were also American, a renowned military helicopter squadron. It was, Mycroft had said, the safest and surest way through the storms and to the island.

Sherlock wasn’t fazed by any of this. Mary had to admit that she was worried, but not as much as John who was almost a blubbering idiot over the whole thing.

“You’re going to die a horrible death,” John blurted out, as if he was reading his wife’s thoughts, and Mary couldn’t suppress a grin. “On the other side of the world on some unknown island and we will never know what happened to you.”

Sherlock snorted. “Don’t be ridiculous. Mycroft is a lot of things but a fool isn’t one of them. Not all of the time, at least.” He was barely paying attention as he was busy text-solving. Once on board the plane, cell phones were not allowed.

“What does Mycroft have to do with you getting killed on an island on the other side of the world?” John was perplexed.

“The man he hired, James Conrad I believe he said his name was, is a very proficient man. Mycroft claims he hired him as a tracker, but that’s just a cover. He’s really going along to make sure I don’t get killed.”

“Oh!” John and Mary both chimed in at once. 

“The SAS Special Forces man,”John stated with an agreeable nod. "That man will know what the bloody hell he is doing in just about any situation." 

Mary smiled. She had looked this James Conrad up and questioned a few of her old contacts about Conrad. "Very efficient but has been off the grid for some time. But like john said - SAS are damn good at what they do."

“Ex-SAS. Decommissioned.” Sherlock handed his phone to Mary, the airport in sight. “Though why is beyond me. A great way to show one’s appreciation to a man who risked his life to save others, but I’m sure Mycroft keeps him in pocket for such tasks.”

“Well, either way I feel better,” John commented. 

“I’ll pass that along. I’m sure it will make him happy.”

"Just listen to and do everything he says. Or at least try. Maybe you'll get home somewhat close to the way you left." 

Twenty minutes later, they had all said their good-byes (which were very short) and Sherlock was ushered out to the private terminal where Randa, Brooks, and several scientists with a group called Land-Sat. All their equipment had been loaded previously and now all they were waiting for was their window to take off and (Sherlock’s bodyguard) the group’s tracker.

They didn’t have to wait too much longer for the latter. 

Sherlock, for some reason or another, was compelled to look up at the precise moment the former captain boarded the plane. He strolled down the aisle, obviously confident in himself and his abilities, nodding in greeting to Randa before turning blue eyes to Sherlock. The second their eyes met, the man’s face broke out into a large grin, and, without preamble, gracefully folded himself into the seat next to Sherlock.

“You’re brother told me to make sure you can back in one piece,” he said as he fastened his seatbelt.

Sherlock snorted. “I’m not surprised,” he returned. “He insists he’s more clever than me.”

“I take it you disagree.”

“Most emphatically.” This caused the other man to laugh, which Sherlock was forced to admit, if only to himself, he found rather pleasing.

“James Conrad, but everyone just calls me Conrad,” he said, holding his hand up and out.

“Sherlock,” he found himself saying. He almost blurted out ‘you can call me whatever you like,’ but instead he said: “You know the rest.”

Conrad nodded, still smiling as they shook hands. 

“I promise I’ll do my best to keep you alive.” He said just as the pilot was announcing they were about to take off.

Sherlock couldn’t help but believe him.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm going to give you a bit of a warning here. Nothing big just that I messed up the movie timeline a little, besides moving to modern day. What I mean is I watched the deleted scene on Youtube and then didn't put it in my fic where it would have been in the movie. Does that make sense? Anyway, it happens in my fic before it would have happened in the movie if it had been put in the movie. Damn, I don't even make sense to myself. Anyone, sorry about the mix up.

At the dock they met the American soldiers, including their CO, Colonel Packard, who had heard of James also and had referred to him as “Jungle Lost and Found.” Sherlock didn’t like the man. He could see an edge of insanity in his eyes and an assuredness that boarded on over-confident. 

“I thought this was a civilian operation,” Conrad had stated to Randa after Colonel Packard had left. Sherlock hadn’t missed the guns being mounted onto the helicopters either.

“We just rented the Helos. The guns were extra.”

Randa left and once he did, Conrad focused his gaze on Brooks. The young man was a scientist. He wasn’t equipped to deal with someone who had once been a SAS Special Agent. He escaped as fast as he could.

“The second I met Randa I knew he knew more about this island then he was letting on,” Sherlock admitted as he and Conrad boarded the aircraft carrier and made their way to their quarters. 

By some twist of fate or circumstance, maybe even Conrad himself, they were assigned to share quarters. Sherlock didn’t have a problem with this. He and Conrad got along rather well (he could hear Mary teasing about _too_ well) and the other man so far hadn’t annoyed him as people had a tendency to do. Conrad seemed to enjoy his company as well, so it worked out. In the time they had been together (no more than a day after all the layovers for refueling the plane) they had _talked_. Actual intelligent conversation. It was rather nice.

“Yeah. They’re also bringing along a lot of ammunition and bombs. Bombs they say they are using for mapping the area below the island, whatever bloody sense that makes. There is definitely something else going on here besides a purely scientific exploit to be the first to reach an island merely for the sake of new plant life.”

“Whatever breakthroughs, medical or otherwise, they might find there.” They reached their quarters to find their belongings already there and just (barely) enough room for the two of them.

“Which do you prefer?” Conrad motioned to the bunk in the room against the right hand wall. “Top or bottom?”

Sherlock hesitated, but only for the briefest of moments. Normally that would have been an innocent enough question, especially since Conrad was clearly pointing out the sleeping arrangements, but given the mischievous glint in his eyes and the telling smile, the consulting detective had no trouble deducing what his bunkmate was teasing about.

“Either is fine with me,” he answered, inwardly surprised to find himself returning the smile. “I’m not partial to one more than the other.”

Conrad laughed at that. “Good to know.”

Mealtime in the mess hall was half an hour later. What meager belongings they brought with them remained in their luggage. If there had been the room, it was useless to keep them anywhere else but still packed. More talking, childhood, youth, dreams, visions, and plans that had not come to fruition. Easiness to two people who - a few people as exceptions - kept to themselves. Conrad spent most of his time on various assignments solo. Sherlock, even when surrounded by John and Mary and Mrs. Hudson was an island unto himself. He and Conrad’s camaraderie was welcome to Sherlock if not slightly confusing. Confusing in the fact that he couldn’t help but feel, though they had known each other for such a short time, that if allowed, it could turn into something… else.

While eating, both of them studied those around them. From Randa and the scientists to Colonial Packard and his men, Sherlock and Conrad paid very close attention to every motion made and word said. They had decided this on the way to the mess hall and that they would compare notes and notions when back in their quarters.

They were joined at their table by a young woman by the name of Mason Weaver. A journalist with a camera in one hand and a tray in the other. She had the good sense to sit where she wasn’t obscuring their line of sight.

“That Packard is wound up way too tight,” she commented in between fork full’s of potatoes. 

“The man’s a decorated war hero. That’s the package they come in,” Conrad said. Both he and Sherlock had barely touched their food.

“You’re not and you are a military man of just as much, if not more caliber than him.” She chuckled to herself. “Scary, according to the Americans, but not wound up tight like a Swiss watch.”

“The Americans think he’s scary.” Sherlock wondered aloud, cocking an eyebrow.

“Yeah. And they think you’re weird, Mr. Sherlock Holmes, the world’s greatest detective.” She giggled, waving her fork at him. “I couldn’t believe my luck when I found out you were on board.”

Conrad tried to suppress his amusement but failed miserably. Sherlock just glared at him out of the corner of his eye, but there was no anger behind it.

“They have no idea.” Was all he said on the matter and Mason laughed so loud all eyes in the room turned to look at her. She just laughed harder.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sorry late updating. My mom has been in the ICU.

The storm clouds were nothing short of violent.

The captain of the carrier, Randa, a man named Victor Nieves, who was plainly the LandSat group leader for this expedition, and Packard were all debating whether or not they should go ahead with the mission or abandon it. Conrad and Sherlock didn’t have to hear them to know that the men weren’t seeing eye to eye.

The next day after boarding the carrier, Nieves had given a slideshow to explain exactly what LandSat would be doing on the island and everyone’s jobs pertaining to the exploring of the island. Mr. Randa, Miss San, a biologist, and Mr. Brooks, a geologist, were the resource group of LandSat and would be dealing with what could be discovered below ground, thus the seismic charges. The land excursions were to be led by Conrad.

“And what do I do?” Sherlock whispered to Conrad as they had stood near the back of the room during the presentation. 

“I don’t know,” Conrad whispered back, “but just make sure that whatever it is doesn’t take you more than two feet in any direction away from me.”

Once the briefing was over, Sherlock followed Conrad out onto the deck where the helicopters, outfitted with the high-caliber machine guns, were being prepared for lift off the next day. Taking brief glances at the machines, they quickly made their way below decks, to the storage area.

“That is a lot of munitions,” Conrad said, shining a light on the crates that were stacked up around them. “What do they think we are going to find on this island?”

“Whatever it is, it’s big,” Sherlock answered. LandSat crates, warnings of danger stamped on them, were concerning to say the least. “Or maybe they’re expecting several things. _Large things._ ” He held his hands out, palms facing in, as far out as the length of his arms would allow, just for emphasis. 

Conrad, chuckling, walked to the other end, opposite the way they had entered, and leaned against a stack of crates. Sherlock joined him.

“I don’t need to confirm you know your way around a gun, so when we land on the island, and I break out the weapons, I want you armed as well.” He shook his head, his eyes, and demeanor very somber. “I hope those bloody damned scientists can tell the barrel from the stock because they’re getting armed also.”

Sherlock nodded. “I know my way around a weapon. Several, in fact. Proficient in many. You need not worry about me.”

Conrad chuckled again, very little mirth in it. “That isn’t going to happen. I’m still going to keep an eye on you.”

Sherlock, as he is prone to do, decided to push the ex-Special Forces man. “My brother must be paying you a lot of money, even more than he let on.”

Instead of getting angry at the assumption, Conrad just smiled, his eyes dancing. “Neither one of us are idiots, Sherlock. Or blind. Or without the capacity for feeling, no matter how we like to pretend otherwise.” He pushed himself away from the crates he had been leaning against and took three steps, putting him well within Sherlock’s personal space. “All these years of keeping a distance and in a few days…” With a shake of his head, he stepped back and then away, down the corridor between the crates. 

“Let’s hope neither one of us gets dead on that bloody island.” Sherlock said after him. “It appears both of us have been altered.” Conrad’s sigh of agreement reached over the creaks of the ship.

That had been the night before last. Now, with the argument between Nieves and Randa – Nieves insisting they abort the mission and return home and Randa solidly against that – in full swing, Randa giving the deciding vote to Packard, it seemed that they might not have to worry about the scientists knowing how to protect themselves.

“When we make it through that storm –” 

“ _If_ ,” Sherlock interrupted. “ _If_ we make it through the storm.”

“Right,” Conrad said with a melancholy smile. They were standing on the deck next to the wheelhouse, high above the deck, the helicopters, and the American soldiers with their very loud music. “ _If_ we make it…” He trailed off, shaking his head in aggravation. “Do you think Mycroft had any idea about all this?” He waved his hand vaguely, but Sherlock knew what he was talking about.

“Maybe not what Randa is expecting to find on the island, but everything else – I would bet on it.” He turned his head to gaze down at the sea around them. The carrier was anchored a few miles from the storm clouds, but even from this distance they were ominous. “No, Mycroft knew something wasn’t right about his whole thing.” Conrad opened his mouth to ask another question, but closed it, keeping silent. “Then why did he still send me?” Sherlock could practically read his thoughts. “If he wanted me dead, he’s had plenty of opportunities over the years. All he had to do was not step in at certain times. No, I might be giving him too much credit when it comes to the danger we are about to face on the other side of those storm clouds.”

“He said you would have found a way even if he had told you ‘no’,” Conrad said with a smile.

“More-than-likely. Besides, he sent you also.”

“To protect you. I almost can’t wait to see from what exactly.”

They were silent after that. Apparently they had both silently and in consensus agreed not to talk about anything but the island and surviving what lay ahead. They would (hopefully) have time to talk about other things _after_ they outlasted whatever it was they were about to face. Mason, using both arms and jumping up and down, waved up at them from the flight deck.

“Mission is a go,” Conrad stated, reluctance evident in his voice.

“Wonderful.” Sherlock didn’t even bother to pretend he meant it.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Forgive me for any mistakes. Also, I am going to continue this but I might not get to update as often as I would like to for the next month or so. My mom just got out of the ICU and until she is back home, I won't be writing as much. Thanks for understanding. I will do what I can when i can. But don't worry if I don't post for a while. I'm going to continue this fic!!

The helicopter they climbed into was piloted by a young man named Slivko and another young American whose name neither of them had heard. Conrad took the outside and Sherlock didn’t mind sitting in the middle so Weaver could join them. She called the other side outside so she could take pictures as they got closer to the storm. Besides, the middle was well within the two foot limit set upon him by Conrad.

There was a part of him that wished they had talked last night. But instead, each had gone about a ritual of getting ready to go sleep as if they really meant it, only to lie awake in their bunks, one staring at the ceiling while the other stared at the bottom of the bunk above him. Both had thought many times about saying something - _anything_ \- but unsure exactly what. So, instead, they had both laid awake, dreading the dawn, hoping they both made it back, and wondering what the hell was happening to them.

For Sherlock, it was strange to say the least. He had only known the other man for a days – not even a whole week! – but he felt as if he had known him much longer. It was a little daunting to tell the truth. Was it just because of the situation they found themselves in or was there really a chance of something. 

Once the helicopters were given the all clear one by one to take off, the realization that there was no turning back was off-putting. The storm clouds ahead were from sea to sky high, dark and swirling, red and orange flashes of lighting streaking through them. Hurricane winds kept the clouds churning. How they remained in place, completely surrounding the island on all sides, defied logic. It only made what they were hiding all the most frightening.

The helicopters, in battle formation, entered into the storm without hesitation and immediately everything went dangerously haywire. The helicopters were buffeted back and forth, red lights flashing on the dashboards, alarms sounding, their nose even heard of the sound of the wind. Mason, who had been practically hanging out of the helicopter, ducked back in and held on for dear life.

Conrad was the least bothered. He held on to a roll bar overhead in the chopper with one hand while the other reached around Sherlock and held tightly to another bar. Sherlock himself had a death grip on a secure spot. He wasn’t panicking, but then again, he was excited about the turmoil. Visions of crashing kept flying through his mind and it took all his self discipline to give into the terror. 

At one point, he was holding onto Conrad’s arm and Mason was holding on to his. What seemed like a very long time were actually only a few moments, and then the helicopters flew out of the clouds and into bright, tropical sunshine, and the most beautiful scenery imaginable.

“Whoo!” Mason exclaimed, laughing before leaning out once again to capture the landscape on film, the terror from before already forgotten.

“Are you okay?” Conrad’s voice shook Sherlock out of his bewilderment over the island.

“Yeah.” He nodded. “And you?”

Conrad nodded, smiling slightly. “I would like to say the worst is over, but –“

Just then, they heard the sounds of the seismic charges going off. “Didn’t take them very long, did it?” Sherlock leaned forward to glance around Conrad to the helicopter closest to them. Several of the choppers had landed to get the LandSat scientists and their equipment on the ground and set up.

The explosions kept going off, one right after another, the flames reaching high into the sky, raining dirt and debris, uprooting trees and destroying whatever plant and animal life happened to be in the vicinity. Destruction which went against the notion of finding new plants for medicine.

But that wasn’t what was holding Sherlock’s attention. His mind was either playing tricks on him or something else was happening because all the explosions were behind them so how was a tree flying through the air toward a helicopter off to the side of them.

He reached over and placed a hand on Conrad’s arm, getting his attention, and then pointing. Conrad turned just as the tree, roots first, crashed through the windshield of the helicopter and the chopper itself, destroyed, began to fall toward the ground.

A cry from up front drew their attention and as they stared out at what was before them, time seemed to stand still.

“Is that –” Mason began but she couldn’t think straight enough to form words for a moment. Her brain was trying to process what she was seeing. “Is that a monkey?”

“Actually, it’s an ape,” Sherlock stated and Conrad swore that if they weren’t in the situation they were in, he would have burst out laughing. Leave it to Sherlock to make that correction at a time like this. Hell, if it wasn’t for his training and discipline, Conrad was pretty sure he would be laughing the laugh of the insane.

It was an ape. A very large ape. Several stories high. And it was very, _very_ angry.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it's taken me so long to update. I haven't abandoned the fic. My mom was in the hospital and nearly died so writing wasn't on my mind.

Conrad surveyed as much as he could from where he was. The helicopter had fallen nose first into some trees, coming to rest at a slant, rudder up, not too far from a very long drop into a deep and wide river. With binoculars, he could see very, and turning to his right caught sight of the huge - _enormous_ ape that had attacked them, the flaming wreckages of the U.S. helicopter regiment in its wake. With a turn to his right, he could see the hulking figured, back toward him, walking away between two mountains from the carnage amidst black smoke and debris.

At least they were all alive. All except for the co-pilot. Slivko had made it out, as had everyone else, with surprisingly little injuries, except a few minor scrapes, cuts, and/or bruises. The scientists, namely Mr. Brooks, Ms. San, and Nieves had shown up not too long after Conrad, Sherlock, Mason, and Slivko had crawled from the wreck and taken stock. Astonishingly, Brooks and San were armed, Brooks with a shotgun and Ms. San with an automatic rifle. Nieves was holding onto a silver briefcase, important LandSat information that he would not relinquish for any reason, not even to pick up a weapon and defend himself.

Slivko was determined to reach someone else alive from his squad. It was a possibility, Conrad was sure there were others alive, but reaching them might not be as simple as walking around in a circle speaking constantly into the radio.

Conrad knew where they had to go. They had to get to the northern part of the island in three days time to meet the other helicopters and get off this crazy island. There was no telling what other surprises were in store for them here. It was going to be a perilous journey for them.

He lowered the binoculars and glanced over his shoulder. Everyone was sticking close to the wreckage of the copter, all except Sherlock who was standing several feet away, his eyes fixed on the land before him, studying it with a scrutiny so intense, Conrad was sure he was seeing more than what any of them could see.

“Calling all units. Is anybody airborne? I repeat: is anybody airborne?” Slivko was determined that was for sure.

“They’re all down. Every one,” Conrad informed the group as he rejoined them. Conrad instinctively knew they would be looking to him for leadership given his experience and the fact that as far as they knew he was still a commissioned officer. All thought that except Sherlock. “We’re on the south side of the island. There’s a river a couple of clicks from here.” He pointed in the general direction of where he’d seen the river. “If we stick to its banks, we’ll make it to the exfil site on the north shore.”

“And then what? All our choppers are down,” Nieves asked.

“We’ll find a way to signal the ship. They’ll send a search party.” Say it like you believe it, as if it’s so simple, even when you knew it wasn’t. He glanced over at Sherlock who was listening but still hadn’t moved from where he had been standing off to the side. “We just have to make it by the exit window.”

“I should be sitting at a desk,” Nieves stated, clearing distressed. 

“So, are we just not going to talk about this?” Slivko spoke up. The guy, no more than a kid really, was nervous and frightened. As far as he knew, all his squad mates or either dead or dying.

“My best guess is we’re scattered over a four to five mile radius,” Conrad explained. “We should head north and join anyone we find.” 

Conrad approached Mason. “Are you all right?”

“I don’t know how to answer that question right now.” Shaken but steady so far. She had been through wars with her camera. She’d be fine.

His eyes fixed on Sherlock who – finally – turned to meet his gaze. “Are you all right?”

“Yes,” the detective answered, rather, if Conrad was any judge of him, keyed up. “All things considered.”

“I don’t know what that was either.” Conrad admitted.

“All the money that they paid you? I hope you’re worth it,” Mason stated as she walked around him.

Conrad hoped that also. He was highly trained, but not for _this_. Who could be prepared for _this_? A giant ape on a hidden island. A hand on his arm and he turned to his head to find Sherlock standing beside him. 

“Mind you, I’ve been told that I’m not a considerate person. Downright tactless, verging on being a complete and utter ice-cold bastard according to John,” he began, by all accounts and purposes serious. “And yet, in spite of the abundant proof to that conclusion, I find myself in the need to ask if you are all right. You’ve been through this the same as the rest of us and it appears that the burden of leading us to safety is on your shoulders. So, _are_ you all right?”

Conrad found the corners of his mouth upturning, if only a little. He nodded. “I’m fine,” he answered and it was mostly truthful. He also, by some unknown movement, a bending of time and space perhaps, found his fingers entwined with the fingers of the hand that had just seconds ago been settled on his arm. It made him feel better, calmer, grounded, and resolute. 

“And just for the record, you _are_ worth it,” Sherlock stated, his eyes beautiful and open as he they looked into Conrad’s. “And so much more.”

“We’re really not going to talk about it?” Slivko spoke up, completely ruining the moment. Conrad sighed and Sherlock rolled his eyes and glared at the younger man. “You know this is not normal, right? Stuff like that doesn’t just happen!”

“You get everyone’s attention and I will render him unconscious and leave him in the wreckage,” Sherlock stated and once again the seriousness of his tone and manner stunned Conrad, but was also amusing at the same time.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Look at me! I'm finally posting a new chapter. YIPPEE!! Sorry about the delay. I HAVE NOT forgotten this fic. It's just taken me some time to get back into my normal groove. That and I've been playing Far Cry 4 like crazy. So, now I'm getting back on track. I'm even far into the next chapter. Hope Enjoy!!!

The ground was squishy.

That was the sentence that convinced Sherlock he was finally about to teeter over that line. That fine line between sanity and insanity. He knew it was coming. Had known for quite some time. It was bound to happen. Logic both prescribed and demanded it! And here he was with it about to happen and not any relief in sight. Well, not any of the relief he typically required.

He had been bound and determined to see this through. To use this opportunity to get that blasted monkey off his back, that monkey, as John called it, that lovely chemical that he shot into his veins to make the world go away and put into sharp focus what he bloody well needed to focus on.

And here he was. On an island with a giant gorilla.

Logic, his ever present collaborator and master, also dictated that the bugs should be enormous. But that ape defied logic so the chances of a giant mosquito swooping down and carrying one of them off to drain them of blood were highly improbable. Yet here he was. On an island. With a 100 foot tall gorilla.

He was going to get eaten by a giant mosquito. Any minute now. Maybe while he was being carried away his sanity would finally snap apart. That would be just great.

They were all walking in a line, he and the others. Gun in one hand, comfortable to hold, the cargo pants he was wearing just barely comfortable. He could feel the cell phone in one of the many pockets. Worthless contraption out here with no bloody signal to be had. He was walking toward the back of the line. They were all following Conrad.

James Conrad.

Bloody fucking hell!

That was someone who defied logic, especially Sherlock’s logic. He who didn’t need companionship, who swore he didn’t need any kind of romantic entanglement, and who made damn sure he was virtually impossible to live with, was smitten…struck…besotted…infatuated…

And it had happened so fucking easily too. Just like being sideswiped by a speeding bus. Sherlock had not been ready or prepared or even able to put up some kind of barrier or fight or anything. It just… _happened_.

Now here he was, eyes glued – fixed – on the other man, memorizing every move Conrad made and how he made them. How he walked, watching muscles play and the color of his hair and trying to find some comparison in this godforsaken patch of nature to match the color of Conrad’s eyes and he wanted to scream and cry and laugh like a loon and find some solid object onto which to bang his head and all the while he can hear John saying: “I bloody told you so!” The prick.

Conrad turned his head to the left, scanning the area as if he had sensed something he didn’t like, his eyes narrowing before deciding there was no danger and turning back forward and Sherlock found himself wondering how such a simple action could bring such impure thoughts to his mind. Really, all he did was look around, and Sherlock’s mind was traveling a path that didn’t have much to do with the action.

He was starting to hate this island. He really, really, _really_ was.

The shape of his mouth. The width of his shoulders. Narrow hips. Long legs. Even the bloody nape of his neck…

Damn it all!

He took back his hatred of the island. It was lovely and mystical in its way and wouldn’t be all that bad really, if it wasn’t for all the things here that wanted to kill them. Men like him and Conrad and the American soldiers and the scientists weren’t meant for this island. It should never have been found. That bit of logic was the most truthful of all.

The others were talking. Well, mostly Brooks. He was talking about why Randa hired him, that he had written a paper corroborating Randa’s Hollow Earth theory. Sherlock had read about it, he absorbed all knowledge, even the ludicrous knowledge, and thus had dismissed it. So, that was why Randa wanted to get this island, at least one of the reasons why. Sherlock knew there had to be something, but he just couldn’t figure out what. The gorilla? But how did he know about the gorilla?

At least the mosquitoes weren’t the size of prehistoric pterodactyls. Good to know.

Brooks commented that the giant gorilla was a member of an ancient species and that there could be other species living below in subterranean caverns and passage ways and that this island was an exit point to the surface for them. Sherlock stored this away.

And Slivko. Constantly trying to make radio contact with other survivors. _Constantly._

“This is Slivko. Do you read? Anyone out there? We’re heading north to the exfil location. Everyone here seems way too calm right now. Do you copy? Anybody?”

“We’re out of range, Slivko,” Conrad said, his voice calm and smooth. Sherlock loved the sound of his voice. Damn. Damn! _Damn!_ “Save it for when we get closer to the group.”

They were walking by a marshy lake. Dead trees jutted out of the murky water, accompanied by other vegetation of various varieties. Cranes called back and forth to one another. Normal. Or so it seemed. 

The birds flew off suddenly, startled, as were everyone walking along as the water began to stir and some of the trees and vegetation began to rise up. Out of the water stood a very large creature, a type of water buffalo, covered in flora with large horns that swooped down on both sides of its head and then turned upwards again, covered in moss.

“Nobody move,” Conrad cautioned.

The creature gave a low bellow, coming slowly closer to them. Everyone was relatively calm, all except Slivko was giving every indication that at any moment he was going to open fire of the obviously non-aggressive creature.

Conrad _shushed_ as the creature came to a stop, snorting, and chewing on whatever it had found at the bottom of the lake to eat. “Slivko.”

“What?” The young man snapped, clearly more than a little shaken. 

Conrad reached over, placing a hand on Slivko’s gun barrel, and gently pushed it down, pointing to the ground. “Put it down.”

Mason calmly snapped a few pictures as the creature turned its back to them and walked deeper into the lake. Sherlock turned and his eyes briefly met Conrad’s who smiled slightly and shook his head before getting them back on their way.

Sherlock took a deep breath and followed on.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, thanks for your patience and understanding. You guys are AWESOME!!!!


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's another chapter and working on the next already. I have the movie in the Blu-Ray player and then recorded on my DVR so I'm covered in having it ready in case I need it.
> 
>  If you notice, I'm giving a lot of Mason's scenes to Sherlock. Just makes sense to me that way.
> 
> Also I really need to get this Loki/Strange fic out of my head also.

More walking and they finally came upon something interesting. Different. Wholly unpredicted. 

“Stay tight,” Conrad said in a low voice as they came upon the strange structure.

“What the hell is this?” Slivko asked, gun still at the ready. Nervous kid.

Conrad was just as shocked by it as well. Gun at the ready, he approached the structure, the others following right behind. Especially Sherlock, who had made his way around the others and right up to Conrad’s left elbow.

“There’s a civilization on this island,” he whispered, clearly in awe. This was incredible – that there were people living here and had been all along. Untouched by the rest of the world. It was enough to make him forget about the itching and the twitching and the sweating and the gnawing in the pit of his stomach.

“Is?” Conrad asked, looking over his shoulder at Sherlock. “You mean to tell me that there are people living on this island?”

“With that thing?” Slivko said in a whisper.

Sherlock nodded as he took a step closer to examine the ruins. There was no doubt they were manmade and painted with a bright yellow substance in patterns unfamiliar to the detective. He was about to take another step closer when Conrad grabbed his arm and pulled him back.

“Something is…” He struggled to find the right word. “ _Off._ Do you feel it?”

Sherlock did. It was as if they were being watched, but there wasn’t –

Sherlock drew in a sharp breath and held it as Conrad brought up his rifle, Mason preparing to snap a picture of the ruins, as figures began to step from the structures. Their bodies were painted so that they blended in with the stone and the yellow markings. Spears were held out at them from these natives, very sharp and dangerous points waiting to pierce something vital. 

“Nobody shoot!” Conrad instructed, trying to protect and keep the peace. 

There were at least a dozen of them, each armed and intent on the interlopers. Surrounded, Conrad, Mason, Sherlock, Slivko, and the scientists formed a circle, their backs to each other, weapons at the ready to fight if need be. Several other natives appeared from behind the root-infested arch in the stone, pained like the others but wearing bright red material instead of the black the armed inhabitants wore. 

They were at a standstill until a voice drew their attention, if only somewhat.

“Whoa! Whoa! Whoa!” A man in an old flight suit and cap, with a bushy beard, wove his way through the indigenous people. “No, no, no. No need for that.” He made his way to the front. “Come on now. Everybody keep your wigs on now.” He held his arms out to the side, his eyes fixed on Conrad. 

“What?” Slivko whispered, his voice displaying the confusion all of them felt at the sight of the man who was obviously not one of the tribe, at least not by birth.

“I didn’t believe it when they said you were coming,” he said with a smile as he placed his hands on his hips. “I was up all night just thinking about how me and Gunpei dreamed of this moment. Now here it is 28 years, 11 months, 8 failed attempts to get back to the world, and instead the world comes to me.” He gestured as he talked, chuckled, and turned to look at the people behind him briefly. “Ain’t that a crack?” He turned back to Conrad and the others. “They never smile.”

“Did you crash here?” Mason asked.

“Oh! Sorry, miss.” The man stood straighter and saluted. “Lieutenant Hank Marlow of the 45th. I put my flight suit on for ya!” He pointed at them, meeting the eyes of each in turn. “You are more beautiful than a hot dog and a beer at Wrigley Field on opening day.” He held up his hands, positioned as if they held the items he had just mentioned. He looked down at his hands with longing, obviously wishing his hands weren’t empty of said items. “But your real!” He looked back up. “Right?” He turned to the people behind him. “I told ya. Didn’t I tell ya? I said it’ll be fine.” The natives took a nonthreatening stance, bringing their weapons up to less offensive positions. “There we go.”

“There’s something out there, man.” Slivko commented, lowering his rifle. 

“Oh! There’s a lot out there.” Harlow stated ominously. “Now, come on. We gotta get home.” He chuckled again. “You don’t want be out here at night.”

Moments later they were following the Lieutenant as he and the natives led them away from the stone structures. 

“That man,” Conrad began in a whisper to Sherlock who was walking beside him. “He’s been here for nearly 29 years. He obviously crashed here, but how and why. I wasn’t aware of any wars or anything of that nature having gone on anywhere near this part of the world at that time.”

“I’m sure Mycroft would know. Remind me to grill him about it when we get back to London.” Sherlock pulled his cell phone from his pocket, glaring at it as if it was the source of all his problems. “I’d call him if I could; give him a piece of my bloody mind.” He wanted to pitch the worthless thing as far as he could, but thought better of it and simply slid it back into a pocket. 

“Add that to the list of things we need to do when we get back home,” Conrad commented, turning his head and smiling at the other man.

“Oh! What other things do we need to do?” Sherlock wasn’t playing dumb. He really had no idea what Conrad was hinting at, but then again withdrawal had a way of muddling his usually sharp mind.

“Are you alright?” Conrad’s brow wrinkled in concern.

“No. Yes.” Sherlock sighed. “Not really, but it’s of little importance at the moment.”

“Like hell it isn’t important,” Conrad whispered harshly. “I’m not an idiot, Sherlock. I can see what’s bothering you. There has to be some – “

“There isn’t. I made damn sure there was no temptation once I left London. If I had known what was going to happen ahead of time, I would have rethought that decision.”

Conrad’s hand came up and rested on his shoulder, squeezing it reassuringly. “We’ll figure something out.”

Sherlock wanted to believe him, but he couldn’t even begin to think of a solution.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't know why I added the whole addict thing for Sherlock in this. it just happened, but it makes sense and gives him just that much more vulnerability. Conrad seems to me like a fixer-type and all. I promise I'm trying somewhere to find a place for - you know - sex, but this island isn't providing much opportunities. And the giant ape and other creatures aren't helping either. I guess I will just have to make it up to you in a sequel...


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote another chapter! In the same week! And then another so Chapter 12 is done and moving on to 13. Instead of following the movie word for word, scene for scene, I decided to focus on Sherlock's POV and I like writing it this way. Hope you guys enjoy it.

How they got from point A to point B was a blur to Sherlock. He had barely registered the walk to the village, the words spoken by Marlow, and the standing stones in the old ships. White paint. Kong. Kong is King on this island. Iwis. Skull… something or others. Conrad making sure he was sitting down. His cool hands on Sherlock’s not cool cheek and neck. And then more walking and how in the hell they had ended up trying to get this rusted piece of junk in working condition. It was impossible, he told himself as he kept trying to concentrate on proving himself wrong and working on the damned thing. 

Tigers and cubs. Churchill. Cold war. Man on the moon. There was never a man on the moon, stupid Yank! All on a Hollywood stage. Idiot! Spam and Tang. Yuck!

He was stronger than this, wasn’t he? Shouldn’t he bloody well be? He suddenly hated his brother. Hated John, though there was really no reason why. Watson had nothing to do with him being here.

He also, even more so than Mycroft, hated himself. Himself had most of the blame, deserved it all, because as intelligent as he was, he lacked common sense, and was in this mess because he was an intelligent, arrogant, dumbass bastard.

Everything was a blur around him. Well, almost everything.

There was Conrad. Conrad who looked at him with concern. Conrad was crystal clear to him and he should hate that also. Oh he really should hate it. Because he wasn’t good at this, whatever the hell it was or could be between them. But then again, he was sure that this whatever it was, was new to him, and so how could he know if he was any good at it or not.

There came a moment when time seemed to bend and distort and he wanted to laugh and cry at the same time. He felt a hand on his arm and looked up into eyes that seemed to shift along the blue-green color spectrum. Eyes so clear that they allowed him a certain amount of focus, and he breathed in deeply, the clean air feeling good.

“Why don’t you go take a walk,” Conrad said to him, squeezing his arm gently. There wasn’t any pity in his eyes – Sherlock wouldn’t have been able to stand that, not from this man at least. There was concern and something Sherlock could’ve put a name to, but chose not to. He was trying to hold onto his sanity here. “Find Mason. See if you can find something to eat and drink some water, alright?”

Sherlock did as Conrad suggested without argument, and that should have been worrisome in itself. He just nodded, and managed to place his hand over the other man’s and squeezes it briefly before standing. However, he wasn’t very good at standing at the moment and swayed. Strong arms wrapped around him and kept him on his feet. 

“Sorry. I’m a little off I’m afraid.” Sherlock shook his head to clear it. All he really wanted to do at the moment was wrap his arms around the other man, put his head on his shoulder and…go to sleep. He pulled away (Conrad let him go rather reluctantly), smiled in what he hoped displayed his sincere thanks and shambled off the boat/plane/never-gonna-bleeding-move contraption, and made his way around the rusted hull of a very large ship, and back to the village proper. All while managing not to fall into the river. Brilliant!

Mason found him almost immediately.

“You look like shit, Sherlock,” she said and then laughed as if she had just said something witty. Sherlock liked her, he really did. She was like the little sister he had never had. A non-crazy little sister. “Here.” She helped him sit down and then jogged away, coming back with a clay cup full of cool refreshing water which he drank down like a man dying of thirst. He lost count of how many times she ran back and forth, each time bringing more water, until finally coming back with some kind of fruit he hadn’t any idea he was hungry for and ate with gusto.

“Wow!” That was all she said. If she knew or even thought something, like about why he was the way he was, she didn’t comment on it. Instead, she helped him to his feet, and kept a close watch as he steadied himself. “Come on. I’m gonna take some pictures. Walk with me.”

And walk around they did. Take pictures they did. The natives posed and smiled and Mason laughed and snapped away. She even handed the camera over to Sherlock a time or two and both were surprised at how well the pictures looked on the digital display. 

The billow caught their attention. The natives, who obviously heard it too, made no move to find the source of the sound, but after sharing a brief glance, Sherlock led Mason to an opening in the tall wooden wall. Mason stopped to look at the sharpened tree trunks, their tips dyed red (maybe), but caught up with Sherlock only seconds later. He was making his way toward one of the large horned creatures, like the one they had met in the lake. It was bellowing because of a broken helicopter that was keeping it pinned to the ground, the ruined machine draped across the back of the large bovine’s neck.

“We have to help it.”

Sherlock agreed but he didn’t see how. The animal was looking at him with large, pleading eyes, but unless they had a heavy duty crane, that helo wasn’t going to move any time soon.

Mason didn’t care. She was trying with all her might to move the machine by pushing up on the tail section. It wasn’t going to do much good, even through his still hazy brain Sherlock knew that was the only logical conclusion, but he found his feet moving the rest of his body over and helping her. The helicopter moved a little, but it was from the animal trying to get up not from him and Mason, but it was something.

And then the helicopter was moving, quickly and high, and both he and Mason stumbled, both nearly falling forward with momentum, before seeing why the helo had moved.

Kong stood there, staring down at them. He dropped the helicopter and it crashed and burst into flames not too far from where they were standing, but neither one noticed the noise or the heat. The animal got up and meandered away – without any inclination of appreciation, but they didn’t notice that either. Both were transfixed on the giant gorilla towering over them.

That huge foot was going to lift any second now and come crashing down on them, obliterating them from this world. His life passed before Sherlock’s eyes. It hadn’t been expecting that, he had thought it just something people said. He thought of all the things he had done that he wished he hadn’t and the things he wished he had. 

“You want to know what I regret the most.” Sherlock asked, rather calmly is he did say so himself.

“It should have something to do with Conrad,” Mason returned just as calmly. She did, however, reach over and grab his hand, holding it tightly. “You should regret not having done something - _anything_ to that man. Any good thing. Nothing bad. That wouldn’t be right.” She shook her head slowly. “I know I regret that for you.”

“It does actually. I really wish –”

Then Kong, as if bored, huffed, turned and walked away. _Walked. Away._

They both stood there for several moments, not believing what had just happened.

“You good?” Mason whispered it. _Why?_

“Yeah. You?” Sherlock whispered also. _Who knew?_

“Yeah.” Both turned, hands still clasped together as they walked slowly back to the village as if it were an average day in an average park. “You’re like the really cool and crazy brother I never had!” Mason exclaimed with a smile.

“You’re like the sane younger sister who hasn’t tried to kill me that I never had.” He shrugged. “Or slightly more sane. You haven’t tried to kill me. That’s the important thing,”

“That was a sign. A sign of what you need to do.” She didn’t need to even motion in the direction of said sign.

“And what do I need to do?” He was really curious about her opinion and was hungry and thirsty and rather clearheaded all the sudden for some reason.

“You need to get your shit together and do whatever you have to do to get that man to stay with you for the rest of your lives.”

Sherlock agreed. That sounded like a plan.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm already plotting out the sequel in my head. Just a warning.


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Our beloved Consulting Detective getting his shit together.
> 
> Thank you for reading and for Kudos and comments. It is all much appreciated.

There was one thing about Sherlock that was a definite and that was his mind. No matter how else he was perceived, he was brilliant. And, while most would consider it arrogant for him to remind others of this fact, he was much more intelligent than most of the people not only around him, but in the world. That was conceited, yes, but it was the truth. 

There was always the possibility that there was someone out there more intelligent. Moriarty had thought he was, but, alas, he hadn’t been. Mycroft? Not even remotely. More clever? Possibly though Sherlock hated to admit it even in the privacy of his own mind. Their sister? Close. _Really_ close, but in the end he had figured out her little game and won. Sort of.

The point was that Sherlock took pride in his abilities. Not just his intelligence, but his willpower, his self control, his focus, and his clarity.

So here he was, in the most quiet part of the ship that Marlow called home, sitting on the cleanest patch of floor he could find, eyes closed, and drawn into himself. His mind palace.

He attributed his going off the rails to the shock of the giant ape and the death and destruction and the helicopter crash he had personally been in with Conrad and the others. Oh, and speaking of which, he wasn’t blind to the fact that Conrad himself had probably thrown him for a loop also.

He had never considered himself an addict, not by definition anyway. He convinced his mind and body that sometimes it was a necessary evil in order for him to do what he needed to do, to give him just that more of an edge. Yes, he had overdone it one occasion. Yes, there had been times when he had actually craved the drugs, so that they could do the opposite of what was the norm which was to take him out of his mind. And yes, he had even overdosed on purpose, all to catch that pathetic little worm Culverton Smith, and that had nearly done him in, but being in control of his facilities - _all of them_ \- was a necessity he could not afford to lose. Not any longer as far as this island was concerned.

So, into his mind palace he went. He hunted down every imperfection, resorted, cataloged, and reorganized. Everything in its proper place. Deep cleansing. Regaining his focus. Clarity reestablished.

All because of a ape, the same one that had probably had something to do with throwing him off-kilter in the first place. This creature, beast, with obvious intelligence, perseverance, nobility, and dedication. This, some would call a monster, and yet it showed more honor than most humans, and it had looked upon him, and allowed him to live. It had seen something in some part of him, his actions, that he had found worth sparing.

And it meant something to Sherlock that it had.

So, he was going to get himself right, and get off this island, and go home, and see his friends (Yes! He did truly have some of those!), and be civil (for a moment anyway) to his brother, call his mother and father, go play violin with his sister, and take Mason’s advice and make damn sure the man who had silently been watching him for the last twenty minutes was never out of his sight again for as long as he drew breath. Even inside his own mind, he was well aware of his surroundings.

“I’ve got myself together now,” he stated, opening his eyes. “I apologize for my actions and my lack of concentration. I was diverted by the situation. It won’t happen again.”

“Good. Because I had no idea what to do with you.” Sherlock glanced up at him and raised an eyebrow. “Well, you know.” Conrad sat down in front of him on the floor. “Whatever benefit you get from whatever drug is your preference is it worth it?”

“Sometimes.” Sherlock took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “There are a few times when, unfortunately, it‘s a necessity.”

“One day, it could do more harm than good.”

“That day has already come and gone once.” Sherlock shrugged. It was not a shrug of the flippant, but one that said ‘what’s done is done.’

“Walk with me,” Conrad said, twisting gracefully to his feet and holding his hand out to offer Sherlock help. “Force of habit. Walking the perimeter.” He explained.

Sherlock nodded and took the help offered. He was still a tiny bit off center, but that would align itself in no time at all.

Once outside, they walked in silence, the night air cool, and the atmosphere peaceful. If one so wished and was prone to delusion, they could convince themselves that there was no danger here.

“We’re going to make it off this island,” Conrad stated as they stopped to watch the lights dancing in the sky. 

“Of course we will,” Sherlock agreed. “Marlow’s ship will get us to the north in time and nothing is going to impede us during the course of that journey.”

“You don’t believe that,” Conrad said with a mirthless chuckle.

“Of course not. Well, the part about making it to the rendezvous point, more so than the rest. It’s the rest I’m worried about.”

“Kong?”

“No. He’s no threat to us, as long as we behave yourselves.”

“Packard.” Conrad nodded slowly.

“Yes. His type doesn’t take well to being attacked, no matter if they deserve it or not. He will take Kong’s killing of his men as personal. This is a man who can’t cope with civilian life. Too undisciplined. Too tedious. He dragged his men to this island the day before they were set to return home all because he can’t get enough of the glory.”

“But there wasn’t much glory in babysitting a bunch of scientists.”

“No, but to a man who is so militant that he craves combat, even the slightest chance at glory is hard to resist. They’ve already had to withdraw from an area with a high chance of conflict, and been almost dormant since. And then…”

“Kong.” Conrad sighed angrily. “Bloody hell!”

“Packard is alive out there, chomping at the bit, and he is pissed off.”

“How can he hope to bring down an enemy of Kong’s size?”

Sherlock shook his head. “Let’s just hope that munitions ‘copter was destroyed.”

They were silent for another while, and then Conrad turned to Sherlock with a smile on his face. “When Mycroft asked –”

“- Bullied –” Sherlock interceded.

“– me into coming along, I researched you online.”

“Oh God!” Sherlock closed his eyes tight. “Please tell me you didn’t read John’s blog.”

“Yeah. I did.” Conrad laughed.

Sherlock rolled his eyes dramatically. “Don’t believe half of what is written there. Rubbish! The whole bloody lot of it. And that stupid hat! I wear it one time and now everyone thinks I shouldn’t leave the flat without it. Bloody damn nuisance! Man has no respect for my process or ability. Just writes what he wants with no thought to the truth or professionalism or accuracy or intellect.”

Conrad laughed through Sherlock’s tirade. “Oh, I don’t know. It wasn’t all that bad.”

Sherlock sputtered briefly. “Really, James, not you too.”

“I would kinda like to see the hat too.”

Sherlock just stared at him for a few moments, brow furrowed, and jaw quivering ever so slightly. Then suddenly he stomped his foot halfheartedly. “Fine! You win! But you must never tell John about it! I hid the damned thing and told him there was an accident and the hat was irretrievable.”

“I won’t tell a soul.” Conrad promised, almost managing to sound serious about it. Almost.

More silence. Ribbons of blue, green, and purple waving at them from the sky. So close but so far.

Conrad didn’t know that Sherlock could stand here for hours, or all night if need be, and listen to the sounds of him breathing, focus on only that sound, to keep him from shifting, even the slightest bit. He could get used to it. He could build the rest of his life around needing this man. Living. Breathing. Existing. This person beside him who he barely knew but at the same time knew completely could mold and shift with him, be everything he needed and everything he didn’t realize he needed. He could be _home_.

It was Conrad who broke the silence again. 

“We will get home. I promise you.” It was said in a voice low and full of conviction. “And when we do…”

Maybe he did know after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I already have ideas in my head for sort of an interlude before I start the next adventure. Of course, I'm going to finish Kong first but plot and such are already formulating for more. Hope you ares till enjoying.


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about the delay!!!

The damned thing started.

It actually started.

It took three tries and a lot of cranking and muscle and luck (prayer, cursing, and the like) but the Grey Fox did everything that Marlow swore she would: start and float. Gunpei would be proud.

The Iwis lined up along the shore apparently to say good-bye to Marlow. He had been here so long that they considered him one of them. 

Sherlock and James had discussed at length how Marlow came to be here. The only conflict in the late 1980s was the Iran-Iraq War that began in September of 1980 and ended in August of 1988. The United States, as well as the United Kingdom, supported Iraq during the war, much of it Mycroft had elaborate on if he were so inclined (which Sherlock doubted he would be), but how had an American and a Japanese Fighter Pilot ended up out here and both crashing on Skull Island? 

“Japan, along with China, North Korea, Libya, and Syria all supplied Iran with ammunition and weapons, as well as engineering equipment,” Conrad had said the night before as they were discussing the subject before joining the others.

“The _USS Stark_ had been hit by a missile from an Iraqi warplane. They claimed it was an accident, but…” Sherlock shrugged. “The point is there was some confusion during this time. Marlow and Gunpei could have arrived here any number of ways, most of them suspicious at best.” 

Later they had returned to the others to find Marlow shaving and Slivko dancing around with a spear. Sherlock had asked Marlow what he remembered about crashing on the island, which wasn’t a lot, and Sherlock could tell he was telling the truth about it. 

Conrad had joined Mason who was trying to take a picture of the lights. 

“So, what were you two up to?” She asked, taking the lighter he offered her to replace her broken bulb.

“What do you mean?” Conrad asked, honestly confused by her question.

“Seriously!” She whispered harshly, rolling her eyes. “What is wrong with you?”

“We were talking. That’s all!”

“Talking? Why were you talking when you should’ve been – how to you Brits say it? – shagging him senseless. Or each other senseless. Or, you know, however way you prefer… Okay! The point is that you should’ve been doing more than talking!”

Mason went about her task as Conrad just stared at her in disbelief and thankful it was dark so she, or anyone else, could see how red his ears are. He dared a glance over his shoulder at Sherlock, but he was still busy talking to Marlow and Nevins – thankfully!

Now they were on their way up the river, the blockade closing behind them.

Marlow was talking about his wife and the son he had never met while Slivko sat up top determined to make radio contact with someone. Conrad was steering the boat – or whatever one wanted to call it – and Mason was standing close by. Sherlock sat towards the back, monitoring everything, eyes scanning the areas around them, but his eyes, of course, drifted to Conrad every so often. Of their own accord. Mostly. The broad shoulders, tapering down to narrow hips, and farther down to thighs and calves…

Though he had everything under control – his mind, his body, and his habits, ostensibly he wasn’t in complete restraint or he could keep his eyes off the other man, could curb his thoughts, and needs and wants.

And apparently every part of him wanted (needed) every part of Conrad.

So much for being asexual and all that nonsense he had carefully tried to dictate as reason to Watson a few months ago.

Marlow was talking about his wife and that they had married right before he was deployed and she had contacted him later to announce the birth of their son – a child he had never seen. He was wondering if she had moved on, remarried. If she believed he was dead or if she had kept hope alive all this time and was waiting for him.

“Yeah, she definitely thinks you’re dead, man.” Slivko. 

“Hey!” Conrad slapped the roof of the boat. Slivko was sitting above.

“Just sayin’.” 

“You don’t know that.” Conrad then focused his attention back on Marlow. “You’d be surprised how long people wait,” he said encouragingly. Sherlock stifled a snort. It was true. It would be surprising. 

“Ah!” Marlow waved his hand around briefly. “Truth is I don’t expect them to be waiting. I’d be fine either way. I just want one last chance to see them. That’d be good enough for me.”

“We’re going to get you home,” Mason promised and Sherlock agreed with that sentiment. He just hoped they could keep that promise.

At that moment a voice, heavy with static came over the radio Slivko held so dear. 

_“Fox Five, come back.”_ It was Miles’ voice. _“Is there anyone out there?”_

Slivko answered promptly. “Hey! This is Fox Five. We hear you. We’re on a boat. On a boat heading up north on a river.” 

_“A boat? Where’d y’all get a boat?”_

“We met this crazy-Santa-Claus-time-traveling guy from way back. You’ll meet him.”

_“What kinda boat y’all got?”_

“It’s more of like a plane than a boat really. Call it a ‘ploat’.” Sherlock rolled his eyes, but he couldn’t deny the truth of it either. “We’re on a ploat.”

“We need their location, Slivko,” Conrad reminded him.

“Send up a flare so we can find you.”

“Roger that, Fox Five.” It wasn’t Miles’ voice this time. It was Colonel Packard. Seconds later everyone on the ‘ploat’ (Sherlock will forever mentally put apostrophes around the word) saw the flare in the sky.

A cheer went up and then Conrad warned them to be ready, that they would be leaving the ‘ploat’ docked and would go to meet Colonel Packard and his men at a rendezvous point. Sherlock was not looking forward to this. Bloody hell! Going through the accursed jungle was a walk through the park compared to how little he wanted to see Packard at the end of the trek. The man wasn’t stable, and Sherlock knew a little about unstable people – he had met enough of them in his time as a Consulting Detective. But there was something else. A feeling he couldn’t shake that something was about to go very, _very >/i> bad._

And then something bad _did_ happen. 

Laughing and cheering one minute and then screams and scrambling for weapons the next as these strange birds swooped down out of nowhere and ripped Nevins from the deck, briefcase and all, of the boat and carried him off. Higher and higher into the sky, the man screaming in terror as they did so, as one of the circling bird-creatures sliced his arm (the one holding onto the briefcase) clean off. 

“What the hell, man.” Slivko uttered in disbelief as the birds tore the scientist apart. 

“He’s gone.” Conrad lowered his weapon. There wasn’t anything anyone could have done to save Nevins. “Everybody, grab your gear. We have to keep moving. We’ll go ashore and meet up with Packard.” 

“No. No! Wait a minute. Wait a minute!” Brooks was clearly upset and not about to let it go so easily. “Is nobody going to say anything about the…” He motioned up into the sky where the bird-creatures were flying off with what was left of Nevins. 

“He’s gone and he ain’t coming back. There’s nothing to say.” Marlow was very adamant as he walked away to collect his gear. 

Sherlock had made his way to the fore and was standing close enough to Conrad to hear his release a deep breath slowly. 

“Bloody hell,” Sherlock muttered, his eyes on the man standing only a few feet from him 

“You ready?” Conrad asked him, swinging around to face him. Sherlock wasn’t surprised he was putting others in front of himself. He had to be just as upset as everyone else, but his training kept him from showing it. Sherlock was good at reading people. He could see it. 

Sherlock wanted to say ‘no’, vehemently, but refrained. That feeling was still there. The one that hinted at something bad happening. His intuition about these kinds of things usually wasn’t wrong. And if Nevins getting taken away and eaten wasn’t it, then what the hell was it? Whatever was going to happen was going to happen. Might as well get it over with. 

“Yes. Lead on.” They shared a nod and then they were off to dare the jungle gods by traipsing about a place they obviously weren’t welcome on their way to shake hands with a madman. 


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This isn't anywhere in the movie. It's a between the scenes thing. And it turned into two chapters. Thanks for sticking with me, peoples. I've been on another kick, working on several things, nothing ready to put up here yet, but it involves several of our boy's characters (hint: Strange Mischief.) Hope you Enjoy!!!

The hike to rendezvous with Packard and his surviving men was not a calm and peaceful stroll through a park.

Bloody far from it!

It was, of course, Conrad who caught on to their predicament first. He insisted on being at the front of the line, gun at the ready and if Sherlock hadn’t been so intent on keeping one eye on the ex-S.A.S captain, he wouldn’t have noticed the barest hint on tension tighten across Conrad’s shoulders. Something was amiss, and recalling his premonition, Sherlock had to know what it was.

Getting that knowledge without farther upsetting the still in-shock Brooks and the ever trigger-finger-at-the-ready Slivko wasn’t going to be easy, but then the opportunity arose.

Miss San, the small young woman who Brooks was obviously attracted to, stumbled, and it was clear she could do with a short rest.

“James,” Sherlock called up to him and when the other man turned to look at him in question, he nodded toward the young woman and then signaled with the fingers of his free hand (his other hand carrying the weapon he had been given), knowing all the sign codes used in the British military. Conrad nodded his agreement.

“Take some rest. Five minutes.”

Everyone seemed glad of this and settled down as best they could. There were fallen trees that would do well as places to sit and rest. The forest was silent around them.

Conrad must also be a mind reader because he came right up to Sherlock as soon as everyone else was settled, and he motioned the detective over out of earshot. 

“We’re being followed,” he stated, his eyes roaming the woods around them. “And flanked also.”

“I wonder what manner of creature this one is.” Sherlock wondered aloud, also glancing about.

“Long teeth,” Marlow said as he joined them. His hand was resting comfortably on the sword at his side. “Oh hell, I don’t know what they are called really, but they are some big ass mongrels. They have hunched shoulders; kind of remind you of a hyena, but a hell of a lot bigger and a hell of a lot meaner. I mean, fucking vicious. They hunt in packs and are smart mutts, but not as smart as they are ugly.”

“Great,” Conrad growled. “So, what do we do?”

“Shoot the bastards on sight,” Marlow suggested with a mirthless chuckle. “The only thing you can do. You any good with that?” He nodded to the gun Sherlock held.

“Yeah. Very good.”

“You better be, son, because we have to get those mutts before they get us.” He nodded back toward the others. “To tell you the truth, Brooks scares me with that shotgun.”

“He’ll be fine,” Conrad stated with sureness. “I’ll stay on point. Marlow, watch our backs. Sherlock, left or right flank?”

“Left.”

“Then Slivko on the right. I’ll go let the others know what’s going on.”

After Conrad had departed, Marlow chuckled again. “Glad he’s with us. Good head on his shoulders. Knows what he’s doing. This island, it’s fickle and mean. Here’s to hoping we all make it off this weird patch of craziness alive.” With that, he patted Sherlock on the shoulder and turned back to join the others.

Sherlock allowed himself a brief smile. He truly liked the older American and he hoped they all made it back alive as well.

A few moments later, everyone was on their feet and back on the trail, those designated to guard in formation. Mason was keeping close to Sherlock, her eyes, as well as everyone else’s, darting to and fro hoping to spot their stalkers.

“Is it just me or is this just creepy?” She asked in a loud whisper.

“It isn’t just you,” Brooks answered. He was clutching his shotgun very tightly. “Being stalked by some weird-ass dogs is beyond creepy.”

“They kinda look like dogs, hyena like, but then again,” Marlow began, sword at the ready. “They are surprisingly cat-like also. Can climb trees like cat, move silently. But do they growl or bark or meow, or even roar? No. They hiss like a snake and then make these strange sounds like – “

A sound like no one had ever heard before cut through the area and cut off Marlow’s next words. It was followed shortly by another and then yet another and so on. It sounded like a cross between a frog croaking and a duck quaking. That was as close as one could get to describe the sound. It sounded so innocent, almost _cute_ in a way.

“Like that!” Marlow continued and everyone turned to him in various degrees of disbelief. He chuckled then glanced around. “I’m serious. That’s them.”

“You’ve got to be bloody kidding,” Sherlock stated just loud enough to be heard by those near round him and Conrad. _Conrad._ The man was almost superhuman.

“Their communicating, coordinating,” Conrad stated, eyes alert to any movement both on the ground and above it. 

“Getting ready to attack,” Sherlock huffed, eyes darting around as well. “Now that we know they can climb the bloody trees, it’ll be hard to pinpoint where they’ll come from.”

“Both,” Marlow stated nonchalantly, ignoring the looks thrown at him from Brooks, Sherlock, and Slivko.

“So how in the hell do we keep from getting eaten?” Slivko, finger firmly on the trigger of his rifle, was swinging it back and forth, very panicky.

“Oh, they won’t eat you, at least not –” Marlow shook his head robustly. “Nope, never mind. You don’t want to know.”

“What do we do?” Brooks is damn near panicking as well.

“Run,” Marlow suggests like it is the most simple thing in the world to figure out, that all of them should have come to the same conclusion on their own. He looks around at everyone before waving his sword toward the way they are traveling. “They hate the open. If we can get to it before they get to us, we’ll be fine and dandy. So, _run!_ ”

“All right, everyone, go!” It’s no surprise that Conrad is going to usher everyone forward while he keeps a sharp eye on their backs. Slivko takes the point, surprisingly and suddenly calm, his military training kicking in. 

Sherlock lagged behind (of course he did) and James didn’t argue, just nodded to him quickly and then eyes back on the trail around them.

“I guess telling you to go on is redundant, isn’t it?” Smart man.

“Isn’t even worth mentioning really,” Sherlock answers. He is much more calm than he should be, but then again… ”When we get off this fucking island, you, and I…” He left the rest hanging in the air. There wasn’t really any reason to say it out loud either.

Conrad just nodded, managed a slight upturn of his mouth, and in light of the current situation, that was very promising.


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me just say first of all that I'm sorry if there are any mistakes or inconsistencies. i no longer have internet access at home, and lugging my laptop (10 year old laptop) to a place with internet in the heat and while with a cane is not something I look forward to. Not a pity party or anything, I'm just letting you know the facts. Other chapters are written, but it now depends on the weather when I update.
> 
> Thank you!

Sherlock began to say more, if only to keep the conversation going so he remained calm and focused on something other than imminent death, when that sound came again, a frog-duck kind of sound, and it was much closer this time.

“Shit!” Conrad cursed. “We need to get out of here.” The obvious, but nonetheless true. “They’re too close for us to run.” He glanced over at the other man. “You have my back.” Not a question. Not a doubt. Another plain and simple truth. One that spoke volumes.

Without further instruction or hint or anything of the sort, Sherlock took two steps, turned, and put his back up against the other man’s.

“I walk forward,” he confirmed.

“I walk backwards.”

“Calmly and slowly…”

“Ready for anything.”

“If that’s at all possible here,” Sherlock muttered, earning a chuckle in concurrence from his companion. A deep breath each and then they were off.

“I told your brother I wanted a bonus if we made it back,” Conrad admitted in a voice barely above a whisper.

“I would wring him for even more,” Sherlock said, a smile playing on his lips. “If he gives you any trouble, let me know. I’ll tell Mummy on him.”

Conrad chuckled at that. In the situation they found their selves in, it was still good to hear it. They have been going crazy at that moment, but neither seemed to care.

This wasn’t the time or place, but Conrad still felt obligated to state what he was sure was an obvious truth to the Consulting Detective. “When we get off this island and back aboard the ship,” he began as they also begin to move together towards what they hoped was safety, “I am so having my way with you.”

“Damn bloody right you are,” Sherlock stated, no teasing of any kind in his tone. Nothing except pure conviction. “Repeatedly.”

“It will be a long trip back.” At least he hoped it was. No sense in going back any other way except the way they had arrived here. Slow and steady and all. 

“Blissfully so,” Sherlock practically breathed out the words. But then, “Incoming!”

Conrad turned to see one of the creatures dart toward them before disappearing into shadow once more. A hunter. A tracker. Letting them know it was there and could get close to them. Ugly as hell, grotesque even, if there ever was something that gave meaning to that word.

“Marlow wasn’t kidding about the ugly part,” Conrad said. They were still moving steadily along. Conrad couldn’t see how far they were from the exit from the jungle to the wide open space beyond because he was facing the wrong way, but he trusted Sherlock completely. Truth is, he trusted Sherlock more than he ever had anyone else in his life, and so easily also. It shocked him to a certain degree, but it also made perfect sense to him at the same time. Why he so eagerly trusted the other man was unknown to him, but he did and there was no hesitation about it. 

Almost as fervently he was willing to jump into not only the first available bed, but the distinct knowledge of a relationship. Could that be where this was headed? So easily. So quickly. This certainly didn’t have the feeling of a quick fling or even a brief romantic interlude. It carried weight and purpose. It was…

Another one of the beasts made a lunge at them, coming much closer than the last time, if this was even the same one as before.

“They are getting braver,” Sherlock mumbled. Conrad could feel the other man’s tension through his back that was pressed up against his, as he was sure Sherlock could feel his. “Correction: they’ve been audacious all along. They just feel as if they have the upper hand now or are desperate because we’re closer to the jungle edge.”

Conrad looked over his shoulder to see how close they were to the edge of the jungle. He had a hunch and it was a long shot, but it was a chance they had to take.

“Sherlock, I have an idea,” he mumbled, eyes focused on the creatures moving in and out of the brush. “We need to get out of this jungle and into the clearing.”

“Oh, of course,” Sherlock exclaimed. Conrad couldn’t see the eye roll or the shaking of the head, but he didn’t have to. It was happening. “Let’s go!”

Conrad spun as Sherlock took off, just a step of him, running as fast as they could for the edge of the jungle. If any of the creatures showed in their peripheral vision, they fired at them to keep them back. The creatures were making their strange howls and both men had to fight to keep from looking back, knowing the creatures were right on their heels.

Breaking free of the tree line, instinct drove them to dive forward. Both hit the ground - _hard_ \- rolling and tumbling until they came to a stop. Both were panting and covered in dirt and vegetation, but they were laughing and happy.

Because the creatures had stopped at the tree line and were not coming any farther outside the jungle. They were pacing back and forth growling, and there were at least a dozen of them, as if there was an invisible barrier holding them back.

“They are safe inside the trees. King nor the Skullcrawlers can get to them, so over the years they have conditioned themselves that it is much safer inside the jungle so never leave it.” Sherlock chuckled, panting, trying to catch his breath. “Skullcrawlers? Really! That _is_ a stupid name.”

Conrad took a quick look around for their companions. The others had gone very far away from the jungle, barely discernible over the tall grass. In fact, Conrad could hear them much more than he could see them. They would have to rejoin them soon and get going if they were going to find the others and make the x-fill.

Before he lost his nerve, Conrad rolled, his body coming to rest on top of the other man’s. Sherlock just looked at him with a cocked brow and a slight up-curve of his lips. Conrad descended, his lips meeting the others hungrily and cursed himself immediately. Having started, he didn’t want to stop.

“As much as I’m enjoying this,” the detective stated, out of breath, moments later, moments that weren’t nearly long enough, “we need to…need to get…going.”

Conrad nodded, remaining still just a few seconds longer, having to fight very hard not to dive in again. The thought of making all those notions he had had about this man and the things he wanted to do to him happen right here right now on the ground of this strange island, with hungry, pissed off predators just feet away from them, made him groan. Training and discipline, however, made him hop to his feet and reach out a hand to help Sherlock up.

“When we get off this island –” Conrad said, feeling the need to reiterate what was already obviously a mutual mindset. 

“You owe me,” Sherlock said waving as the others spotted them and were coming closer. “You are going to make very good on that. Again - _repeatedly_.” 

Conrad was not about to argue with that. Now he _really_ wanted to make the rendezvous point as quickly as possible.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In previous chapters, I think I've written 'bloody' a lot. Apologies. I'm from the south, y'all. So, sorry if I overused it.


End file.
